


first winter

by noodlebunny



Series: Ishvalan AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Gen, Ishbal | Ishval, War, imagine their adult anime voice actors putting on little pathetic child voices and sounding sad, referenced child death, that’s this entire fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodlebunny/pseuds/noodlebunny
Summary: Winter 1906, Amestris. The Ishvalan Civil War rages on. Two brothers and a slum.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric
Series: Ishvalan AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556608
Comments: 11
Kudos: 165





	first winter

**Author's Note:**

> another short thing i found while cleaning out old fanfic files lol.... this was originally gonna be part of a much longer work but im pretty sure it can fit in with my other ishval fic (tho i haven’t reread that in forever sorry if there’s inconsistencies btwn the two)

The realisation that no one is coming to save them hits much like Edward imagines a train would: sudden, violent, and painful.

He’s propped against a wall in a gutter and his little brother is tucked under his arm. Al’s skin is cold; too cold, much too cold, icy like the snow under their feet and a shade of brown far paler and far more sickly than it should be. Maybe if they were used to such conditions it wouldn’t be so harrowing, but as it is, neither of them had ever left the oppressive heat of the desert before now.

Slums in an Amestrian winter are a far cry from endless Ishvalan summers.

“It hurts, brother.” Al’s voice is a broken thing lined with cracks and fractures.

“I know, I know it does, Al, but you’ve gotta hold on for me, ’kay?” Ed stiffens his grip around his brother’s frail shoulders, pulling him so close, so tight, that he can feel each shallow breath as it blossoms over his chest. “Stay awake for your big brother.”

“I’m so tired, and it hurts so much, all the time, brother, I don’t want to be awake anymore... Please, I want to sleep, I just—”

Al is ripped into by hacking coughs that wrack his tiny body, and Ed can’t help but notice that he’s much too small for a six year old; he’s skin stretched thin over protruding bones. His red eyes are glazed and dull. Acrid bile rises to Ed’s throat.

Ed’s read plenty of the books his father left behind, alchemical and medical alike, and the mentions of hyperthermia taught him, at least, that he can’t let Al fall asleep.

He isn’t ready to be alone. Not yet.

Maybe that’s selfish.

“D’you remember home, Al?” Ed finds a motion, a gentle rocking with Al huddled close, back and forth, back and forth, until he can pretend there’s warmth in the hollows of his bones. “D’you remember the way the sky looked during the light festivals? With the lanterns? You an’ mom an’ I—we decorated one just this summer, remember? D’you remember the wish you made?”

Sluggishly, Al fists a small hand in Ed’s shirt—Ishvala help them, Al can barely move, and his words are slurring and tripping like his mind is falling over itself, and they’re going to die here in a gutter like rags tossed aside—and Al says, “I wished that the fighting would end.”

“We’re safe from the fighting now, Al.”

“But not from everything else.”

Kids are smart. That’s what they don’t teach you; kids aren’t stupid, and Al’s six years old, and he knows exactly what this is.

Silence falls like the snow itself. It’s only a thin layer, ruddy dirt still visible beneath patchy white, but in their disheveled states they may as well be naked in a sea of it. Ed doesn’t regret giving up his shoes to Al. It occurs to him to form an array for clothing, or maybe drag himself into one of the clumsy tents, consequences be damned, but his hands are frozen through, utterly useless, and he doesn’t suppose thin flaps of cloth would do much to save them now.

It is, Ed realises, peaceful. There are no more desperate wails since no one has the energy to scream; bodies don’t writhe in piles anymore, sickly and fever-hot, because they’ve all gone cold; babies don’t cry for there are no babies left.

Ed lets Al sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> ha, angsty i know. it was a phase. al doesn’t die at the end but i also know nothing about pneumonia and small children in freezing weather so, hey, it’s whatever you want it to be
> 
> comments and kudos make my life like a billion million times better <3333


End file.
